


the way you said "i love you"

by frostycakes



Category: Gravity Falls, Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Baking, Camping, Dates, Dipper Pines Has Panic Attacks, Domestic, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Past Abuse, Lots of Crying, Lowkey Marriage Proposal, M/M, Mabel is a Good Sister, Mental Health Issues, Minor Injuries, Minor Self Harm, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6020749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostycakes/pseuds/frostycakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>35 situations in which "I love you" was enough.</p><p>A collection of pinescone oneshots all connected by one vague plot about love, hurt, and domesticity.</p><p>Based on <a href="http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745/the-way-you-said-i-love-you">a Tumblr post</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. [1] as a hello

**Author's Note:**

> this would be a good time to mention that the tags will probably change frequently until the work is completed. 
> 
> that said, enjoy!

Wirt gently drummed his fingers against the countertop, waiting for the water in the kettle to boil. His fingers tapped out a mindless, yet joyous tune, seemingly free from the constraints of an overworked mind.

Wirt's thoughts wandered as he leaned heavily on the marble, fatigue weighing his eyelids down. He drifted off, mouth lying slack against the hand propping his head up. The kettle, old-fashioned as it was, began to sputter and whistle, sending Wirt's knee jerking into the cupboard handle below and causing an interrupted curse to spill from his lips. His fingers were lifted from their precise melody and twisted around the handle of the kettle. He poured the water into his favorite mug, one with a rich, dark green backdrop to an image of a black forest decorated in tiny white lights, and one already containing a random teabag. He didn't have the energy to be picky when choosing a flavor, so it would remain unknown until he took a sip. He yawned widely before he turned the burner off and wrapped his hands around the warm ceramic. He walked over to his old, but well-loved, sofa, and sank deeply into the seat.

Steam twirled up into the air around his reading glasses, which he had forgotten to take off before getting up to make something in the first place. The quiet of the apartment began to affect him again, his eyelashes fluttering down to meet his cheeks every few moments and lingering longer each time he blinked. He took a sip of his tea, uncaring of the fact that it was without cream or sugar, and tilted his head back to meet the cushion behind him. His eyes slid shut, his grip on his tea growing slack and leaving the mug to rest nearly undisturbed in his lap.

When he finally deigned to slit open his eyes once again, a pair of warm, chocolate-brown irises met his, and a startled chuckle leapt its way out of his throat. A hand cupped around his jaw, and he leaned into the soft press of lips against his own.

Breath fanned across the lower part of his face when his partner leaned back and muttered a quiet, "I love you."

"Welcome home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by [this post](http://trash-by-vouge.tumblr.com/post/132858041745/the-way-you-said-i-love-you)
> 
> no particular update schedule yet. sorry about that!


	2. [2] with a hoarse voice, under the blankets

Dipper trembles, his teeth clacking together forcefully. Tendrils are wrapped around his ankles, he can feel them, he can feel the blood getting trapped in his toes, his feet tingling, his legs struggling (immobile, nothing is touching him but the gentle caress of the comforter wrapped around his shaking form). He feels the muscles in his calves tense as the sensation travels up toward his thighs, past his knees, tangling with his entire lower half. The breath is knocked from his body when he feels them stroke the soft skin of his stomach (they're not even there not there not there not there) and his eyes clench shut when they rove up to his ribcage, tickling the thin skin protecting the bone and organs beneath. His hands are violent, tense, when they reach toward his chest to claw the offending appendages away and subdued, steady, when they lock onto his face after finding nothing but soft, downy fabric to clutch.

He draws in a shuddering breath (don't open your mouth too wide, they'll find their way in), dragging his fingertips down his dry face. He doesn't have the energy to cry, knows he would be mocked for it by the laughing strands that attack him even when they aren't physically there. His nails are blunted, leaving only dull red marks on the skin of his forehead and cheeks as he takes in another, steadier, breath. He stays as quiet as possible, silent sobs hitching in his chest because those two breaths were the only grasp he had on reality, short-lived as they were, and he is finally lucid enough to realize that phantom pains are what locks his body and casts it down into the depths at four in the morning.

He is okay (lies, lies, he will never be okay), he is fine, he can wriggle some, edit his environment so he can gasp and heave and shudder without disturbing Wirt, precious lovely perfect _asleep_ next to him. He turns over, moulding his old (really needs to be replaced) pillow to his face, and his chest seizes in the quiet. The first salty tears are leaking from his still-squeezed-tight eyes, his mouth is open and gaping against the cushion beneath him. He pushes the pillow against his face (harder, they can't reach into you and tear you apart then, piece by piece by piece by), heaving breaths through the buffer between him and the outside world. His tears are seeping uncomfortably into the fabric, and the damp surface turns cold when he has to move his head.

He's growing lightheaded; he's hyperventilating. He curses himself (quietly, quietly) and twists around once again, trying not to jostle the sleeping man next to him. He faces away from him, his entire body coiled tight.

The room is still. A hand gently rests itself at the nape of Dipper's neck, and he relaxes into the touch without realizing, because that's the one place that was never attacked in his nightmares, the one place that stayed safe even after all those years. Fingers massage the knots at the base, slowly, slowly moving to rub at the surrounding area, trailing down his right shoulder and prodding at the taut muscles there. Dipper shifts back, leaning into the steady shape of the hand grounding him.

"I love you." His voice is wrecked, he knows it, it just slips out (so needy so wrong so disgusting). Wirt says nothing, content to let the moment continue, the stillness remain uninterrupted. Dipper shivers, despite the layers of blankets, and Wirt wraps his arm lovingly around the prone frame of the man still turned shamefully away from him.

"It's alright, Evergreen, I'm here. I love you." An unspoken _he isn't here_ echoes in the space remaining, so Dipper presses himself the rest of the way against Wirt and takes his first real breath in hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bill was never good to dipper.
> 
> two for the price of one! the next update will probably be in the next few days. no promises, though!


	3. [3] a scream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes things are bad. sometimes it's hard to handle. sorry, dipper.

The Fight shouldn't have been anything remarkable. As it was, it began as a mere petty disagreement between two lovers in their late twenties, children who lacked the experience to handle the situation with any more finesse than an old pet on death's doorstep.

It started with stress and weariness (as any fight between young lovers might) and a quiet request to please, turn off the light, I have to go in early tomorrow to help the class with their projects even though I said I couldn't do it this week. The sooty lantern, Wirt's choice of decor, flickered in the dark of the bedroom, and Dipper's pen ceased its clicking. He turned his head toward Wirt, lying exhausted and with his eyes barely cracked open to glimpse at him in the dim light.

"Do you think I could just make it through this last chapter? I promise I'm almost done." His lips were turned down in a pout. He knew he was being annoying, but he just really wanted to find out who had been murdering those kids! He definitely wasn't ruling out that boy who supposedly died a few chapters back, and, despite himself, he was anxious to discover the truth. While the book itself wasn't particularly intriguing, he enjoyed the mystery of it all, but now there were more pressing matters to attend to.

Wirt's arm came up to rest across his eyes, and he took a steady breath in. "Dipper, please, I'm sorry to cut you off here, but I really need some sleep. I have to be up in five hours, and middle-schoolers are possibly the actual worst about letting their substitutes have an easy day."

Dipper looked thoughtful for a moment, torn between letting his boyfriend have the rest he deserved and indulging himself. They worked on ridiculously different sleep schedules, and this was a fairly common problem for the both of them. His brows furrowed as he looked between his sleep-ruffled partner and the last few pages of the book in his hands. He sighed, a soft, disappointed thing, and carefully dogeared the page he left off on. He switched off the artificial lantern light and slid down under the covers. Wirt leaned over and kissed each of his eyelids. Dipper pecked his nose in kind.

They should have left well enough alone.

\---

"Dipper. Evergreen. Dipper, oh my god. It is two in the goddamn morning." Wirt's heavy, irritated voice drifted up from next to him. Dipper blinked wide eyes toward the resting form beside him, and was surprised to see a glare pointed in his direction. "Shut off. The light. _Please_."

Two nights after the last incident and Dipper was finishing off another (albeit less satisfying and actually rather poorly written) mystery murder novel. The tension around Wirt's eyes was clearly visible in the wan light, and Dipper made an ultimately unsavory decision.

"I need to finish this. Just turn the other way or something." He shrugged and turned his attention back to his story, too sucked into the plot to notice the fury that began to simmer low in his boyfriend's gaze, born of exhaustion and hurt.

"Dipper Pines, you will turn off that light so the rational people in this household may get some sleep."

Dipper's eye twitched, a subconscious reaction to being ordered to do anything, really. "I'm irrational? I'm not the one who locked his boyfriend out of the apartment because he was cooking and 'didn't want anyone getting in the way.'"

"That was one time! Do you really think I would do something like that without a good reason? Wait, whatever, doesn't matter, it's early, I need sleep, and you are not helping that." Wirt's expression flickered back and forth between irritation, concern, and listless fatigue. His sentences fell short, choppy. Dipper looked on at him in both exasperation and pity.

"Fine, okay, I'll just move out into the living room. Yeesh," Dipper muttered. He threw himself up out of bed, leaving the covers spread wide, and the cold began snaking its way under the blankets. Wirt shivered, muscles still pulled tight, brows furrowed. He said nothing as Dipper snatched up his book, a flat pillow, and the glass of water he kept at his bedside. Dipper stole one last glance at Wirt before clicking off the lantern and crossing the room, closing the door behind him as he left.

Wirt looked after him, long after the door closed, and resigned himself to another sleepless night.

\---

The Fight was never so much a fight as a series of charged, late-night interactions that culminated in one final breakdown.

"I cannot _fucking_ believe you! You are such a hypocrite, you know that?" Dipper snapped out. The set line of his boyfriend's shoulders shook violently. Dipper's teeth were clenched, enough to hurt, and the rage pouring through his limbs shattered his filter. "Day in, day out, always _criticizing_ this and that! You just don't know when to quit!"

Wirt's voice was low, aching. "All I ask," he choked out, "is that you let me talk to you." Dipper cut him off there, expression mangled with pain.

"What do you mean, talk to you? We talk all the time!" His tone was charged with hysteria. "Do you want to break this off? Is _that_ what all this is about?" Involuntarily, his eyes welled up with bitter tears, and he huffed out a breath.

"Fucking _of course not_ , Dipper! Do you know how long it's been since I got a proper night of sleep? Do you know how long it's been since you gave _yourself_ a break? I may be selfish, I may demand and nag and criticize, but at least I _fucking_ care!" Wirt's voice shuddered, in time with his body, reaching its peak. "I care too much to watch you run yourself ragged, and damn it, I'm sure as hell not letting you hurt yourself like this anymore! Have you even looked in a mirror lately? There have been bruises under your eyes for weeks!"

Dipper, at a loss for words, let his mouth hinge open slightly in shock.

"I'm not angry about you keeping me up because you haven't been! I've been keeping myself up every night to check that you fall asleep, and don't you dare blame yourself for that."

"Why would you-"

"Because _I love you_ , you absolutely insufferable- insufferable asshole!" Wirt's voice crashed through the air around them, and tears began leaking from both of their eyes. "Why won't you let me take care of you?"

Dipper stood stalk-still, and barely reacted when Wirt shuffled over to him and draped his gangly arms across his shoulders, squeezing tighter than he thought possible. "You haven't slept, I know it, I see it, so why won't you talk to me? I just- I want to help, Dipper. That's what I'm here for."

The numbness in Dipper's limbs, once radiating through him, all of his individual organs and systems, began to recede. His fingers twitched and he buried his face into Wirt's tall frame, smothering his sobs. 

They stayed like that for a few moments, Dipper clutching roughly onto Wirt, and Wirt burying his face into Dipper's hair, curls tickling his nose. Droplets were soaking the both of them in different places, saltwater drying unceremoniously on drier skin.

"I'm sorry," Wirt breathed.

"I needed to hear it."

A pause.

"C'mon, let's get you some rest."

"I'm not going to be able to sleep," Dipper admitted softly.

"That doesn't matter. Lying down is enough right now." Wirt, still wrapped around his boyfriend, led them both into their small bedroom and collapsed onto the springy bed. Dipper tucked himself farther into Wirt's chest and sighed. They were there for a long time before night fell, alone together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update schedule still undecided/possibly never going to be decided. i might just keep it sporadic. whoops. sorry.
> 
> so, how about that finale?


	4. [4] over a cup of tea

The kettle needed to go.

It was old, rickety, and barely on its last legs. Wirt stared down the offending metal contraption and contemplated just throwing it out once and for all. The whistle was broken and annoying at best, the outer metal was beginning to rust horribly near the spout, and the handle was starting to become scratchy with years of use.

Of course, it didn't take long to get Dipper to agree that it was finally time to retire the ancient thing.

"Well, what the hell are we supposed to do now?" Dipper remarked, staring down at the poor thing, crunched down into the trash can. Both Wirt and Dipper had independently Googled how to get rid of the kettle, neither coming up with a direct answer, so they eventually settled on just throwing it out and hoping for the best.

"Buy a new kettle?" Wirt suggested, at a loss himself.

There was a beat of silence, then, "You know, we haven't gone on a real date in a while." Wirt glanced up at Dipper, who looked contemplative, but had a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "What do you say we get dressed up and go out to one of those teahouses near here?" His expression turned playful, and Wirt rolled his eyes, meeting his smile with a grin of his own.

"Okay, but you're buying."

Wirt relished in Dipper's defeated pout.

\---

Forty-five minutes later found them sat in a quiet booth in the corner of a teahouse, something the both of them had barely even acknowledged in all their time living there, even with Wirt being an avid Tea Enthusiast. (He insisted on the capital letters adorning the title whenever it was brought up- he was somewhat uppity about it, actually, and Dipper snickered at him every time.) The room was dimly lit and appeared rustic, even, though some parts of the place were bright and beautiful, decorated with modern decor. Subconsciously, they both shunned those areas and sought out the darkest crevice possible.

Despite Dipper's joking that they should dress for the occasion, they both left the apartment in casual clothes, outfits accented with jackets and scarves, as winter was beginning to settle over the bustling city. Plus, neither of them really knew exactly how to dress to go to a teahouse.

The booth was shaped like a half-circle, the cushions soft and cloth rather than sticky and plastic. Their legs were crossed under the table, and they each had a hand clasped in the other's. The scene was, in fact, downright adorable.

Of course, Wirt had to ruin it.

"So, what are we doing about tea after this? Because, I mean, we can just keep doing this. I wouldn't be all that opposed. But, of course, there's the problem of actually spending money every time I want tea. Which is often."

"Yeah, alright, I get it. We need a new kettle." Dipper waved his free hand impatiently, then frowned. "Where do you even buy kettles?"

"Probably somewhere, I don't know," Wirt said, tone teasing.

"Ah, we'll figure it out on the walk home," Dipper conceded, relinquishing his hand from Wirt's when they got their respective cups of tea. Dipper really enjoyed the taste of chamomile, even though it made him tired and he really didn't like tea all that much in the first place anyway, so that was what he had ordered. Wirt, on the other hand, ordered the most authentic British vanilla tea he could manage, settling in and sipping it contentedly.

Wirt carefully caught Dipper's eye over his cup of tea and snorted when the other waggled his eyebrows suggestively. He settled down some and attempted to make actual, meaningful eye contact with his partner. When he spoke, he murmured quietly into his tea. "You know I love you, right?"

Dipper stilled for a split second, then attempted to reestablish the contact Wirt had broken by dropping his gaze. "Hey, I know, I love you, too. What's up?" he questioned softly, giving Wirt some time to recover.

"It's- it's nothing, I promise. I just needed to say it." Wirt let out the breath he had been holding, and the smile that had been sliding away was replaced with an even brighter one. "Do you want to look for kettles on the way back, or just talk about doing it and put it off for the next week?" The final bits of forced cheer in his expression melted away, and he looked kindly on to Dipper.

Dipper, though wary and still concerned about Wirt, replied, and they finished off their drinks in relatively peaceful quiet. The walk home consisted entirely of joking and laughter, gentle shoves, window shopping without any real intent, and the occasional worried look from Dipper.

A week later, they bought their new kettle together. The embossed black turtle was a nice touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i. don't actually know anything about tea. or if teahouses even exist. are they a thing? who knows! i sure don't!
> 
> every one of these is probably going to be at least kind of sad. i'm sorry. :(
> 
> in other news, sorry for the break. i had an essay, 500 tests, (technically) taxes, and a new puppy to fight through. it's been a busy week.


	5. [5] over a beer bottle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me first preface this by saying i have little to no idea how drunk people work since i am, in fact, a baby and my only truly memorable experience with intoxicated friends took place from 1am to 7am in a school parking lot (and then an apartment complex, and then a public park, and then etc you get the idea) while i was exhausted to the point of forgetting basically everything they were doing.
> 
> so. yeah. ANYWAY HERE'S ANOTHER ONE

White light is pressed against the wall, brighter colors mixing in with the existing illumination and mingling to create a kaleidoscope of hues. Dipper sits, quietly enraptured, staring at the array before him.

It has been one week since he met the boy sitting on the chair across from him, who is currently studying him as though he is trying to figure out how exactly he needs to maneuver Dipper to pick him up and tuck him into bed, anxiety visibly building. Dipper pays him no mind and continues to look at the lights, to try and figure out exactly where he fits in with all of them, a melancholy sort of feeling beginning to drift over the top of his head and drip down to his toes. The fact that he is finding meaning in the Christmas lights strung around the living room of his childhood friend's home (not really much of a friend, was she? not back then) indicates that maybe he has had one too many shots of hard liquor, so he grabs a random capped bottle of shitty beer off the table in front of him. He notices the boy's eyebrows tilt even more in obvious worry and, internally, he scoffs, because who is he to try to pretend he knows him, like this isn't something he does every other Friday, just with different people in different and unfamiliar and scary places-

Dipper pops the cap off with little effort and ignores the look the man (he has a name) is giving him. The music thrums in the background, and Dipper belatedly remembers that he's at a party, he's supposed to be enjoying himself.

He also realizes, a little too late, that the man (Walt? Will?) has picked himself up and dropped back down again next to him, twisting himself so he's sitting cross-legged on the couch with Dipper, facing him. Dipper side-eyes him, taking a long drink of that really terrible beer. His thoughts have ground to a halt, and all he can do to remedy the situation is drink until his mind goes even fuzzier, so he doesn't have to worry about nightmares creeping up on him when he inevitably passes out in a dead sleep.

He raises the bottle to his lips again. Before he can down it, though, Wirt's (Wirt! that's it!) hand comes up to tap against the glass. Dipper pulls it away from him, somewhat violently, and sloshes a tiny bit of the liquid out onto his own arm through the force of the action. Wirt raises his hands in a placating manner, and only tells him he thinks he's had enough to drink. Dipper's mouth turns down in a vicious scowl, and he meets Wirt's eyes for a moment before raising the bottle to his mouth once again and spilling it down his throat before Wirt can even think to protest (it was never his place to, anyway). He chugs the rest of the bottle, and when he lowers it, he sees that Wirt is staring at him in that same way he was before, the unease growing on his face again.

"I'm going to get another." He almost definitely slurs, not even remotely sure if Wirt understands what he's saying and not caring either way, and stands to head to the kitchen, still holding the empty bottle. Quickly, stumbling over himself as he tries to uncross his legs, Wirt attempts to stand with him, but Dipper is already tottering his way over to the next room. Cursing under his breath, he gives chase, trying to shake the sleep out of his limbs that had somehow built up in his short time seated next to the currently fleeing boy.

He finds Dipper staring off into space next to the fridge, though there's a kind of... vacancy, past the relaxed features of his face. He is still clutching the empty bottle, and Wirt suspects he never made it to the table dubbed "Hardcore Alcohol!" in blue masking tape and sharpie by a group of teenagers that had wormed their way into the party. He touches Dipper's shoulder, softly. Blank eyes look back up at Wirt, and Dipper tries to puzzle out exactly what he's doing and why anything is happening around him (only a little out of it, he guesses, not a problem, not really).

Wirt wraps his hand around Dipper's shoulder, loosely guiding him to one of the ground-level bedrooms because drunk people and stairs do not mix well. It takes some time, one instance where he walks in on a few of those aforementioned teenagers performing some kind of sexual act he didn't really get a good look at before slamming the door shut, and a lot of micromanaging Dipper's movements before he finds a very vacant room with a bed. Dipper's hand is _still_ glued to the bottle, which is kind of ridiculous. Wirt resigns himself to letting Dipper sleep with the bottle in his hand, which is a little funny in and of itself, but he doesn't laugh. Instead, he presses against Dipper's shoulders carefully, forcing him to at least consider lying down. It takes him a second, Dipper's mind still muddled, but he lays back and cradles the bottle to his chest.

Right before Wirt leaves the room, honestly planning just to sit outside the doorway, he hears Dipper mutter something from his side of the room. He dismisses it as half-asleep-talking, as Greg is prone to do, and clicks the door shut behind him.

(i love you, i love you, i love you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> technically over a beer bottle, i guess?
> 
> when dipper's in a bad place, as i'm sure you've noticed, he starts thinking very much very quickly- so, parentheses happen. a lot.


	6. [6] on a sunny tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAST ONE FOR THE NIGHT

A halo of light frames his face, and Dipper falls for him.

His fingers press to Dipper's back casually, suggesting, but never telling, and Dipper falls for him.

His teeth are bared against the cool breeze, and though it is the second-warmest day of spring so far, he complains about the cold creeping down his spine and laughs, open-mouthed and joyous. Dipper falls for him.

Dipper falls for the man he meets at a garage sale two blocks from his old home in Piedmont, California, two days after returning home for an extended winter break, on the second day of December.

Dipper falls in love with the number two, and subsequently, the towering, pale boy who smiles like he's in on a secret.

He and the boy ("Wirt Palmer, nice to meet you," he says with an over-dramatic flourish of his- cape?, and a quiet grin.) begin to meet in places anyone could, in grocery stores and bus stations, in libraries and around corners. Dipper is always greeted with a rush of exhilaration and the need to impress, though he knows that's just conditioning (he won't be like that). Instead, he tiptoes around conversations, afraid of stepping on too many tails, laughs when he's cued, avoids personal questions. He knows the drill, and desperately yearns for Wirt to be different.

Wirt is all honesty, hushed praise, sad looks when no one is watching.

Dipper falls in love with the way his cheeks dimple when his lips turn upwards, and it seems he'll never not be enamored with that face. He never wants to see Wirt's expression contort with empty misery, as though he's watching his loved ones die before his eyes, ever again.

So he makes it his mission. Make Wirt happy, no matter what that takes, or what it will steal from Dipper.

It is a quiet Tuesday afternoon and Wirt's hair is warm with dying sunlight and pressed against Dipper's cheek. They sit quietly on a bench at the park, watching the last of the children be wrangled into cars and away from dirty sandboxes where gleeful adventures will have to wait until the next day. Wirt's head is tilted onto Dipper's shoulder, surely uncomfortable, but with a content tilt to his eyebrows and tension drained from his eyes. The back of his hand is resting carefully against the side of Dipper's thigh, pressed between them both. His eyes are sliding closed when Dipper turns his head and just looks at him, all peace and, finally, comfort.

Dipper is falling in love with the shape of his eyes when Wirt breaks apart his lips and tells Dipper he loves him.

It steals nothing from either of them, and finally, everything feels right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, by the way, this fic actually has a very, very, ridiculously loose plot and i'm sneaking my way around it, trying to figure out the details.
> 
> something i think should be mentioned is that bill's torment definitely stuck with dipper, causing an extremely unhealthy state of mind for a long time, until he was eventually diagnosed with and treated for ptsd and a separate anxiety disorder. baby's got probs :(


	7. [7] as a thank you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is not my best work. sorry about the wait for this. :/

It's easy to forget yourself when you've got someone who means the world to you. You forget to take care of things, you lose track of important dates that aren't intrinsically related to the way they cross their legs when they sit, to the crinkles around their eyes when they smile, to the loose way their shirt fits when they've been wearing the same sweater for the past two days.

You feel as though every breath you draw must be related to theirs. You feel as though the world ends when they are out of your sight. You worry, more than you've ever worried about anything in your entire life.

You never know how lucky you are that you've found them until you've lost them.

His lips press to my chapped, bleeding ones, and our mouths part in synchronization.

"You are the most important thing in my life."

"And you, I don't know what I would do without you."

Floating syllables and tender phrases drift about in the air around us, touching down on bared skin and folded eyelids. We are huddled together in the first real embrace we've managed in weeks. Time slips away with tasks, with life. Our breaths are mingling, and the outside world is dead to us.

"There aren't enough words in the world to describe exactly how important you are to me. To everyone."

"So we'll make some new ones."

Alphabets are invented for the sole purpose of communication between lovers who are too wrapped up in each other to notice the way things change when you aren't looking. Speech is discovered because the affection someone feels for another can't be expressed through action alone. Love is never invented because it has always been here.

Shutter clicks and family dinners overtake our lives for a time. Chipped-off nail polish scatters in the wind, off the deck and into the open air. We are at his family's house and he is smiling in a way I've never quite seen before. It has the melancholy of a man who has lived years longer than he ever expected he would, the pain of a man who never saw himself getting this far. But sometimes, his face twists the way it does when he's alone with me, and he shows the family he never sees for more than one day in a year a little bit of the person he actually is.

He tells me he loves me in ways unknown to me prior to our meeting. He tells me he loves me in mere blinks, in a full, clear glass of water in the heat of summer. He tells me he loves me in apologies and gratitude. He tells me he loves me when he leaves for the day and sneaks back in late at night, as quiet as he can. He tells me he loves me, even when he feels his lowest, and I can't push past the panic for long enough to brush my lips against his knuckles and reassure him that he is worth the expanse of the universe.

 _I love you_ is exchanged by means of thanks more often than not.

I've never been in love quite like I am now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lack of names was intentional. this can apply to both of them.
> 
> i have been listening to a lot of soft, sad songs lately.
> 
> updates will be weird. i'll try to get at least two chapters out this weekend. it's looking like weekends are gonna be update days, with a few weekly ones interspersed. writer's block finally caught up with my ambitious mind.


	8. [8] as an apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMMMMM

Dirty sheets mingle with lost pillowcases and a creaking bed frame. Feet slip in fluid mud and spill down the walkway. A hand reaches out and grasps his aching fingertips. He is petrified, and the man before him cradles the empty heart barely beating deep in his chest. The muscle contracts, spilling thin, silvery fluid through the crooked spaces bringing him together. He feels the breath leave his body, as it does, and rush back in a storm, tearing through every individual vein and ligament and fiber. The shattered glass moving through his cells is the only thing he can process as a bright white light wraps lovingly around his form, and he fades into the background.

He wakes slowly, blinking open his puffy eyelids, and the hollow feeling rising like a scream beneath his ribs begins to dissipate.

Nightmares don't strike him much anymore, but his single experience with the briefest touch of omniscience returns to haunt him as it pleases, coming and going, sometimes, before he even has a chance to realize what has happened.

He folds his hands, fingertips stinging much like they did in another reality, over his stiff chest. It never stops being weird. He peers at the sun-spotted wall taking up much of his view and wonders what time it is. It must be pretty late in the morning, considering the rumpled sheets on Wirt's side of the bed are cold, and the keys that normally occupy the table by Wirt's pillow are missing.

Dipper feels himself blanking out. He blinks, slowly, like it's a chore. It's not something he's unfamiliar with, really, and it always strikes him right after one of Those Nights. The ones where the tiny hole drilled in the back of his mind by an underhanded dream demon is invaded, and he is met with knowledge no human was ever meant to face.

At least, that's what he figures happens. He's never really all that sure if that tiny hole even exists, or what a hole in the back of his mind would feel like in the first place. All he knows, with some crystal-clear certainty, is that everything he sees, he feels, he breathes is _real_. There's no logical explanation for the niggling feeling of _knowing_ permeating his mind and implanting itself deep in his conscience.

It's distracting, and it's distressing, and most days, just like this one, Dipper wants nothing to do with it, so he gathers his thoughts, rallying his body for movement after the prolonged, terrifying night he and Wirt had shared.

Fighting isn't something they make a habit of. It was a miracle in and of itself that Dipper managed to get any sleep last night, and he feels guilt slither into his throat and hover at the roof of his mouth before he swallows it back and walks into the kitchen. The apartment, small as it is, is brightly lit and homey with an atmosphere Dipper knows he didn't create. Wirt is always the one to fix things. Wirt, Wirt, Wirt.

Dipper runs the palm of his hand over the marble counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the apartment. An island, most people call it. It's his favorite fixture in the apartment because the marble is a soothing, deep gray, and there is always a dark blue glass bowl holding oranges set out in the center of it. The cold stone lights up the nerves beneath the delicate skin on his wrist as he leans against it, arms both pressed against the counter inside-down. He feels the intimate connection between the cells of his body and the surface beneath him, residual echoes of the breach in his mind fading gradually and flaring again when he thinks he's chased them away.

He feels footsteps in the hallway outside of the apartment before he hears them. His entire body is stilled in a way he's unfamiliar with, and his breath has stopped stuttering in and out of his chest. His eyes resemble headlights when Wirt creaks open the door with quiet precision and fear of waking the boy who was supposed to be sleeping, oh. Oh.

Wirt freezes in a similar manner to Dipper when their eyes meet, and the tension radiating through the space between them is thick like humid summer air.

There's no explicable reason for Dipper's joints to be immobile as they are, or for Wirt to move as slowly as he does when he sets his handful of grocery bags down next to the door and nudges it closed behind him. There is no _valid_ reason for Dipper to tremble, breaking his statuesque form, and take a hesitant step away from Wirt when he takes a hesitant step forward. Wirt is grace, and syrupy gestures, and slow slow slow. It's obvious from the overwhelmed tilt to Dipper's eyebrows that last night, of all nights, was one of Those Nights. It takes a moment for it to register in Wirt's mind, but when it does, he _slows_ even more and approaches Dipper with his fingers cupped in a cradle so much like the one that Dipper glimpsed in the vacancy of the early hours of the morning.

He stops when Dipper takes another fumbling step back, and Wirt cants his head to one side, very slightly.

"Did you get any sleep?"

Dipper thinks of a thousand things to shout and one thing to mutter to the musty carpet. "Yes."

"Can I touch you?" Wirt's fingers are still spread in Dipper's direction, and it takes a moment for him to furrow his brows in their direction, the erratic tilt fading out and being replaced by concerned confusion.

"You- uh. You probably. Shouldn't?"

"That's okay. How are you feeling right now?"

"Confused, I think? I had- hm. I. Words are really hard right now, shit, I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. Like I said. We can take it slow if you need to."

The world is still muddled and _slow and slower_ when Dipper comes to the realization that he actually would rather like to hold hands with his soft-spoken husband and painstakingly lifts his heavy arms to meet his palms, even though they are still a room apart. Wirt waits for Dipper to start closing the distance between them once again before taking his own first steps forward, and before long, they are in each others arms in a cliché move that Dipper is too brittle to laugh at quite yet.

Wirt takes a solid, steady breath against him and he is reminded that breathing is important, yes. Air seems to be something he's getting too little and too much of at the same time, lately, and he takes a moment to just press his ear against his partner's rising chest. They breathe in time, and Dipper's whispered "I love you" makes Wirt's arms constrict softly around his body.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, y'know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, yes, hi. this, indeedly, took place right after [3]! i also really like commas, and, apparently, updating way later than i said i would. sorryyyyy. hope these sad kids can make up for that.
> 
> i wanted to add so many more details but, like, i couldn't figure out where to put them. i feel like something's missing. i apologize even though y'all actually don't have any idea what _is_ missing.
> 
> anyway, wow, i talk a lot. see you next time. (leave comments if you want!! i love them)


	9. [9] when baking chocolate chip cookies

"You can't eat the dough, it's not even done yet!" Dipper grinned and dodged Wirt's wayward attempt to smack him with a wooden spoon.

"And who's gonna stop me?" The mixing bowl was secure in his arms as he lunged out of Wirt's reach once again. Wirt's responding laughter was both terrifying and playful all at once as the two of them rushed around the warm apartment. Dipper made an over-dramatic show of scooping his finger into the unfinished dough, then shrieked when Wirt finally landed a soft blow on the back of his thigh. Dipper jumped up on the couch, pouting and sticking his tongue out at Wirt.

"Hey, that hurt! And, oh my god, you got cookie dough on my pants!" He twisted around to look at the mess ingrained in the fabric of his jeans, his expression growing even more distraught. Wirt's mischievous smile only broadened as he triumphantly grabbed the bowl out of Dipper's distracted hands.

"I told you not to eat the dough." The mischief in his eyes shifted to something a little closer to smugness when Dipper turned his affronted gaze on him. He held his self-satisfied posture for all of two seconds before he snorted and burst out laughing, almost dropping the bowl, spoon and all. His snorts were starting to become wheezes when Dipper finally let go of his grimace and started to chuckle right along with him.

"No, seriously-" Wirt gasped, floundering for breath. "We should p-probably finish these cookies."

Dipper was barely any more composed when he replied, "What did you need these for again? Oh, oh no, was this an important mission? Did I foil your chivalrous plans once again?" He giggled some when Wirt threw him a fondly exasperated look, which in turn caused him to realize he was still standing on the sofa, and therefore was staring down at Wirt from, like, three feet above. He stepped down as lightly as he could, resting his hands on Wirt's shoulders for support. He let them linger there after his feet greeted the floor, fingers running their path along the ridge of his shoulders before they trailed off, and he made his way back to the kitchen, glancing back at Wirt with a teasing smile. Wirt rolled his eyes, still a little short of breath, and followed his ridiculous husband to the counter, where he placed the surviving cookie dough.

"Well, I was planning on making a good few batches for my class as a thank you for behaving themselves on the trip last week, but I think I can spare a batch or two for the both of us." Wirt smiled warmly, and Dipper poked him in the side, setting them both off again, only this time it was Dipper's turn to gloat when Wirt ran out of breath once again.

The next few hours were spent in comfortable silences and overheated air, and definitely involved one or two instances of "holy shit I think the cookies are burning wait no false alarm" in addition to concerning amounts of raw cookie dough sitting in the pit of both of their stomachs.

"You know, I'm pretty sure that one of these days, one or both of us is going to get salmonella and die. Probably," Dipper vocalized from his position splayed out on the cold wood of the floor. Wirt was sitting next to him, his back resting against the oven containing the last of their spoils. The still-warm cookies from the last few batches were arranged carefully on some plates, haphazardly on others. Wirt planned on taking the prettier ones with him to work tomorrow, leaving the less formal plates to Dipper's discretion, which, as he discovered, was not one of his brightest ideas, seeing as at least ten of the cookies had gone "missing." There were smudges of chocolate at the corners of Dipper's mouth, which was rather cute in Wirt's opinion, even if Dipper totally hadn't stolen the cookies that provided that particular image.

"I don't think it's very likely. I've never known anyone who's even met someone who got salmonella from eating raw cookie dough, so I think we might be in the clear for a while, yet."

"Okay, but there's totally still a possibility." Dipper's head was tilted back to stare at Wirt, bangs falling away from his forehead and exposing his birthmark. His t-shirt was riding up the tiniest bit, and his pants had been replaced with shorts an hour into the fray, both due to the rising temperature of the room and the dough stuck to the back of his pant leg. Spring was finally coming to a close, and warmer weather meant more opportunities for Wirt to fully appreciate the figure of the man in front of him.

He laughed a little under his breath and sighed contentedly, meeting Dipper's eyes. Dipper gave him a questioning look before raising his eyebrows, which looked rather comical upside down, and Wirt chuckled out loud in response. His face melted back to placidity, but only for a moment, and a cocktail of amusement and affection lit up Dipper's eyes. He waggled his eyebrows at Wirt, grin growing with every second of Wirt's now-unrestrained laughter. In the end, they both found themselves lying next to each other on the floor, facing each other. Wirt kissed the chocolate from the corner of Dipper's lips, so Dipper kissed his nose in kind.

"I love you, you big goof."

"You too, loser."

(The timer for the last of the cookies went off seconds later, startling both of them away from each other. Wirt managed to smack his head against the floor in surprise while Dipper just groaned about having to get up off the "basically frozen floor, Wirt, can't we just stay here all day?" Wirt got up long enough to move the freshly-baked cookies to a plate, and they shared one, Dipper complaining all the while about how cute Wirt was. Eventually, an hour later, they finally picked themselves up off the floor, accompanied by an empty plate and stomachs churning with regret.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can anyone tell me why chocolate chips are called that?? they're not...chipped off... i don't understand.
> 
> asking the real questions here.


	10. [10] not said to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SMACK IN THE MIDDLE OF FINALS, HERE IT IS.
> 
> i. i need to be studying right now.

Affection was never a particularly valued practice in the Pines household. Dipper's father had always been at least a little tight-lipped, worry lines deepening his gaze in his steadily-increasing age. When Dipper was younger, those lines weren't as prominent, the furrow of his brow not as permanent, and Dipper could breathe easy knowing his father would always come to tuck him and Mabel in at bedtime, as had been their routine for as long as he could remember. His mother had always been cheery, donning brightly-patterned clothes and grinning her way through life. She was gentle, and kind, and he loved her more than anyone else. His parents were utterly incompatible, contrasting like bruising shadows held against a vibrant sunset, but they stuck together. They made things work.

At some point, something changed, clicked, shifted in a way Dipper couldn't ever really puzzle out. He'd spent pointless, painful years wondering exactly what had happened to their relationship during the few months he and Mabel were away, living in the tiny town of Gravity Falls. It took him some time to realize that it was something that had been a long time coming. Shortly after their return, it all began to deteriorate for real, and he witnessed the joy leave his mother's eyes in the year after he first realized things were going awry. He watched the already tense muscles of his father grow more strained. He watched as a love of decades was frayed away by minuscule arguments, angry quips, whispered disagreements. He watched as love was sucked dry from his home.

Of course, they were still together. They had spent so much time as a team, a couple, an invincible pair, and eventually they were accompanied by two kids, a pig, a warm house, and plenty of food. It wasn't something they wanted to let go of immediately. They settled on living with each other, silently putting up with each other, finally agreeing on an unseen, unknown, unofficial divorce. They may still have been married, but, by their terms, they were by no means together.

When Dipper began to ruminate on the past, something that happened often and never by his own will, he carefully considered the lack of love in his household and decided it made sense that everything had dissolved the way it did. Mabel, the one who held the love of everyone in his small family, grew dim and nearly flickered out more than a few times in the period between Gravity Falls and getting out of that hellish, suffocating atmosphere. When they both left for college, moving into the same small apartment in downtown Portland, they carried with them unsustainable weights of fear, hope, and a special kind of longing prescribed to kids who grew up without "I love you."

Dipper, laden with bags three times as heavy as Mabel's because therapy was never quite an option, promptly fell apart.

Only three months into his and Mabel's freshman year of college, he had a breakdown of miraculous proportions. One day, he felt as if he could finally handle the world around him. He had what he thought was a healthy grasp on his life. The next, he dropped all of his classes during a severe bout of anxiety and announced to Mabel that he was moving back home.

"Or, just. Somewhere else, Mabel, I need to _leave_."

Home wasn't quite what he was looking for. He really had no idea what he was looking for. This was all new and utterly terrifying. Mabel was crestfallen. But she understood. She always did.

Dipper packed with Mabel's help, impulsively tossing a good portion of his belongings away, and moved a hundred-something miles south to Eugene. It was closer to home, wrapped and packaged much more solidly with pine trees (Dipper breathed out, a low, throaty whistle.), and so reminiscent of Gravity Falls he nearly began to cry the first time he laid eyes on the outskirts of the town off I-5 from his bus seat.

Actually living in the town was a lot more intimidating than he first realized, having taken his first independent steps as a barely-18-year-old. Homesickness wracked his body for his entire first night in the run-down apartment he was barely able to afford with his own carefully-managed savings. Though he wasn't unused to the sound of sirens, having lived in cities for his entire life minus his three-month stint in Gravity Falls, he was still startled by the amount of noise rising up from downtown. Portland had been a huge step up from Piedmont, but it had felt right, been right. This just felt like being a child accidentally stepping in a frigid puddle in sneakers and being too startled to notice they were crying. It was wrong and twisted and Dipper hated it.

The next night, Dipper took to the streets, combing the nearby areas to get a feel for the place he had forced himself into. After hours of walking, he ended up running across several teenagers crowded on a worn corner. One thing led to the next, and he had his first real experience with being heavily intoxicated. It wasn't a particularly pleasant one, when all was considered, but it could have been infinitely worse. The following morning, he blinked his bleary eyes open, barely able to recall the walk back to his apartment. He decided then and there that he rather liked the mindless feeling of alcohol.

Another three months and he wondered exactly what exactly had gone wrong, what he had _done_ wrong, to make himself like this. He was entering another phase of sleeplessness, rare hours spent asleep invaded by merciless bouts of nightmares. He woke up, still a little tipsy, and dressed for work, some minimum wage job that wasn't covering the basics on its own, but one that could be used efficiently when paired with his savings. He was still barely scraping by, but at least he was free from his parents and free from the fear that he was hurting everyone around him. Especially Mabel. God, Mabel.

Going through life with basically no friends had certainly helped prepare him for the aching loneliness he felt now. Being homesick was just another way he figured you could say you were lonely, and he decided it was time he owned up to that and admitted he was lonely. But it wasn't anything worth worrying about, no, he had ample time to let go of the life he had had not half a year previously, ample time to make new friends and explore the world the way he always wanted to.

He was fine. He was fine. Nothing mattered enough for him to have to care about and that was just fine.

He called Mabel one temperate night only a month later when the floor felt like it was shattering underneath him and reforming over and over and over again. She talked to him for hours. He hadn't called her in the entire time he had lived in the city, and the loneliness was gnawing at his gut in a way he knew he could fix with only one thing.

He barely caught her words when she asked if he was drunk. He said yes, the words slipping off his tongue in a sticky slur. He could practically hear her frowning on the other end of the line. She was silent for a few moments before she changed the topic to his job, questioning him on how work was going and laughing at his dull story about a fictional angry customer. They ended the conversation on a relatively positive note, to Dipper's memory. A few moments after he hung up the phone, he buried his head in his hands, fingers digging into his forehead with practiced familiarity. He kept his fingernails blunted, usually, because this had become a much more common occurrence than he was entirely willing to admit. No matter how much pressure he applied, the nails wouldn't break skin, and he silently thanked himself. There were a few scattered half-moons left peppered around his birthmark from before he wised up, and he gave up on his attempt.

Morning came and went uneventfully as Dipper woke up, took a few (more than he should have) ibuprofen for his throbbing headache and dressed for work. The ache in his head had been a constant presence lately, so it wasn't too much of a bother as he worked through the rest of the afternoon, closing the shop he worked at around five and heading back to his apartment.

He never expected to find his sister sitting slumped against his door, playing with her phone and clearly waiting for him to come back. He stumbled to a stop three feet from her, observing the way her eyes turned to him with hope and confusion and quickly lit up not a moment later. She jumped up to hug him, holding onto him even through his initial flinch because she knew he needed it. And he wished with all of his being that he were a less pathetic creature. He started choking on sobs, head tucked into her shoulder even with their six-inch height difference. Mabel didn't seem surprised in the least, simply carding her fingers through his brittle hair.

Two hours later, they were settled on his bed, fleshing out plans for them to move back in together in Portland, looking up newer, less stifling apartments further away from the chaos of downtown, leaning against each other and enjoying finally being within reach again.

It took far longer this time to get all of his belongings together. Two nights after Mabel had arrived ("Don't you have classes? Really, you shouldn't-")("Spring break, Dipper.")("Oh. Right.") and Dipper had closed his lease, they set out in Mabel's car toward Portland. He felt everything so much more acutely than he had in months, missing the numbing agent he had come to rely on. The car ride was more tense than either was prepared for, but Mabel did her best to remedy the silence of the hour-and-a-half drive with jokes and stories of her time spent away from him. When they arrived at Mabel's current apartment, Dipper took a moment to reflect on how strange it felt to step into a place that had once been his own, too.

They had everything completely set up and moved two weeks later, and when Dipper was lying in his new bed in a new apartment, he finally took a second to appreciate love for what it was. Mabel could have left him be, but she didn't. He even thanked his parents for their lack of warmth in a moment of candid thought. Though it really kind of fucked him up, he was thankful all the same that somewhere in there, they had taught him to appreciate love, no matter what form it came in.

Eight-ish months later (really, who was counting), Dipper met Wirt for the first time.

\---

Even though Dipper was a little more versed in the idea of "caring" and "tenderness," nothing could have prepared him for the way Wirt loved. He was relentless in his whirlwind of fondness, which is what made it so painful when Wirt ended up dating a brash, loud boy he had met not two weeks previously. Wirt and Dipper had built a lasting friendship in the short time they had known each other. Dipper's extended winter break had come to an end before either of them were ready. Wirt had been living in Piedmont for the last few months, having moved over from Massachusetts around the beginning of Dipper's current school year. The distance was a little more difficult to handle than Dipper expected, but Wirt ensured they kept in close contact, despite Dipper's ridiculous aversion to modern technology.

Dipper ducked back down to Piedmont for a week during spring break in the hopes that he would get to see Wirt and avoid his parents, thank you very much. When they finally met up, Wirt opened his arms for an embrace, and Dipper immediately fell into them. They got coffee at a little shop a few blocks down the road from their meeting place, and for a second, everything felt like it would be okay.

Dipper met the boy the next day. Wirt gently explained that he was his boyfriend, that they had met a few weeks before. Dipper wouldn't go so far as to say that he heard rushing in his ears, but he honestly felt like he was drowning for all of two seconds before he politely introduced himself to the scoundrel yanking his arm up and down in an attempt at a handshake. He grimaced a little to himself when the boy showed no basic knowledge of manners, tugging his boyf- _Wirt_ around by the arm as they made a day of window shopping.

The hardest part came at the end of the day, around early evening, when Wirt pecked that boy on the lips and told him he loved him. His stomach bottomed out as the boy said nothing back, shit-eating grin firmly set on his face, and they hugged once before the boy ran off. Dipper was left awkwardly standing with Wirt with a ridiculous amount of time to kill before he was due back at the cheap motel in town where Mabel had already spread all of her belongings over every surface possible.

Soundlessly, he mouthed a goodbye to Wirt, who looked confused at Dipper's lack of verbal acknowledgement and wished him farewell, a kind of sadness in his eyes as Dipper went.

Back at the hotel, it was all he could to stop himself from grossly sobbing all over Mabel again, as he was prone to do. He cried on her anyway, but managed to avoid most of the theatrics and told her he just wanted to drown everything out again. She hushed him and told him that that wasn't a good thing to do, that he could sit and talk to her all night if it meant he avoided going out to find a drink or five. While Dipper had had some breaks in the last while, she trusted him not to do anything too seriously bad to himself in the week they were there. She held him as he cried more, cried until he had worn himself completely out and passed out on the bed beneath them.

The rest of the week was spent in relatively good spirits, despite the boy who kept accompanying Dipper and Wirt, and occasionally Mabel, to their outings. Dipper accepted his presence a little more than he thought he would and kept his head held high when the time for them to leave came, and he was still there. Dipper hugged Wirt goodbye, still shocked at how tall and gangly he was, and enjoyed the brief moment they had together before the rest of the goodbyes were said, and Mabel practically yelled that it was time to leave.

When he received the call three weeks later, he felt for Wirt. The cracks in his voice were overwhelmingly heartbreaking to listen to as he explained that he and the boy had broken up. Dipper offered his best support, which likely wasn't entirely what Wirt needed to hear, but it cheered them both up some when Wirt laughed through his sparse tears.

Wirt's love was a hurricane that Dipper wanted nothing more than to get lost in. It might have been considered too soon, but that summer, when Dipper made one of his now-routine visits to Piedmont, he proposed that Wirt move up to Portland with him and Mabel in the interest of proximity. That wasn't his entire reasoning, but it was enough for Wirt to consider his proposal carefully and say yes a few days later with a bright smile on his face. It was midsummer at that point, and Dipper and Mabel helped Wirt hollow out a space in their apartment for him to stay soon after.

Love still wasn't something that came too easily to Dipper, but he figured he was doing pretty okay, surrounded by Mabel's bright star and Wirt's looming, comforting shadow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so much unnecessary exposition hahahahahahahah
> 
> largely unedited. please comment if you see something that seems funky or doesn't line up with previous stories!
> 
> wow, shit, that really was a lot of exposition. i'm so sorry.


	11. [11] with a shuddering gasp

Wirt sits, staring down at the wooden grain of the coffee table. His fingers are splayed wide, forcefully pressing down onto the surface, skin taught and white from the pressure. He drags his hands harshly against the rough texture, tingling sensation registering in his palms before fading again, and he is angry.

Wirt sits. He waits. He grits his teeth. He is scared.

Wirt sits alone in his apartment, fifteen years late, and hates.

There are shadows dancing in the corners of the room, at the edges of his eyes, taunting and teasing and _mocking_. He turns his head to meet their aggressive gazes, again and again, but is never able to catch their faces for long before they transform into the shrieking visages of gnarled bark and splintered branches.

He shakes his head in an attempt to clear it of the worn memories, but the dizziness of his mounting headache slams into him full force, and the flickering shadows creeping up the walls begin to cackle louder, rattling around inside his mind and jumbling his thoughts until he can't think in a straight line. A solemn creak sounds through the room when his hands brace even heavier against the old wood below him, startling him just enough to drive some of the echoing laughter away. In a brief, grasping moment of clarity, he rips his phone from his back pocket in one jerky, stilted movement. Dipper is out at the bank, wasn't supposed to be gone long, but Wirt cannot take another moment of the stifling sound without someone he _trusts_ by his side, grounding him. His fingers fumble clumsily around the keypad, trusting that Dipper will be able to discern the situation through a text alone.

He feels the sharp edge of a broken branch drag against the exposed skin of the back of his neck.

**TO: Evergreen (2:43 p.m.)**

_Need help with usual. Please hurry back._

The phone clatters to the floor not a moment after he hits send; his jaw clenches, and he doubles over, torso pressed bodily against the tops of his thighs and arms wrapped around the back of his head, hands tangled in his hair. He feels the prickle of pointed branches against the backs of his arms this time, dragging against the fabric of his thin long-sleeve shirt. They jab a little harder than before when he is unresponsive. Roots twist their way up his thin legs, winding up and up and sprouting burnt autumn leaves as they go. There is a misty quality to the space around him, water-laden air brushing gently against his cheekbones. The thrill of biting cold is just beginning to seep between the seams of his thick socks when he lifts his head hurriedly, despite his headache. His eyes are level with a mangled, grotesque visage of rotted tree trunk and screams torn from lives ended too early.

The corners of the room are illuminated in stark splashes of color. Bright, washed-out pinks, blues, and yellows creep into the furthest reaches of the room, though the area surrounding the Beast is void-black. The light would be reassuring were it not those particular hues, and Wirt, still hunched over in apparent distress, swallows noisily.

The now-aggressive pinpricks along the back of his body are no longer painful, he thinks as the Beast leans in, in, in towards Wirt, and Wirt flinches away violently, drawing himself back up to full (still sitting and vulnerable) height. He does not notice the phone blinking dutifully on the ground, does not notice the sound of birds outside the window, does not notice when the air leaves his body and does not come rushing back in immediately. The alluring gaze of the Beast has him ensnared as the dewy air grows thicker around him and begins to enter his lungs by way of stuttering breaths, drawing a placid, scared 15-year-old boy out of Wirt once again. Frigid air has finally begun to circulate through his body, through his clothes, and through the spaces between his teeth. He feels more than sees the first snowflake touch down on his bloodless palm, turns his head away from the Beast long enough to watch the water drip down the curves of the lines. Anger is still singing through his cells, though he knows it will get him nowhere.

He tries to hold himself steady as he looks back into the eyes of the Beast. He tries to steel his gaze against the screeching cackling echoing behind him; the laughter that is cutting out and restarting every seven seconds like a fucked up record.

Wirt's hands are shaking, his body slumped against the back of the couch with face turned toward the center of the room and his eyes unblinking, when Dipper returns. The front door is clicked open none too gently, but Dipper's attempt to startle Wirt out of his reverie, a method that only occasionally works, is unsuccessful. He stops, tries to take in everything at once with a deep, calming breath, and makes his way toward Wirt. His panicked breaths are growing less so by the moment. He wraps his warm, calloused fingers around Wirt's hand, bared palm against even barer.

"Wirt," he says softly. Wirt blinks, but doesn't move. Still, something.

"Wirt," he says again, running his fingers delicately over the expanse of Wirt's wrist, over his fluttering pulse, mapping the lines of his veins and tendons. Wirt's breath grows a little more shallow, choked, so Dipper stills his hand and waits.

Wirt's vision is blurring and the gaps between the record sounds of laughter, static-splattered now, are growing larger. He knows he is moving, he feels it, but something still feels tied-down. With a new furrow in his brow, he looks down to the hand curled around his wrist. The hand is normal, he thinks, a little small and worn, but normal and human and reassuring. The cold is beginning to leech away from his body, cinnamon warmth sneaking back in with the presence of the lovely boy beside him. His vision is still muddled, and there are still occasional jabs at his ribs by the remaining shadows, but the image of the Beast is fading into the backdrop.

"Dipper?"

The figure smiles at him. "Yep. Let's get you up, okay?"

Wirt feels (and sees!) Dipper's other hand come to meet the matching wrist; he feels the world tumble away and the hazy fog that remains starting to dissipate. Dipper pulls him to his feet with little effort.

"Wait, wait, oh- my god. Okay." Standing is difficult, Wirt is reminded, after one of... these. Things. He doesn't really want to call them anything, he knows what they are, but labels make everything so much more real. He inhales shakily, lets out that breath. He takes another, no stronger than the first, tries to hold himself up because Dipper is looking at him in a way he doesn't _like_ for reasons he can't describe. His throat is closing, only a little, and breathing is just a tiny bit harder than it was even ten seconds before.

Dipper's grip is stronger than his own, able to keep him up as his head swims and the headache from before experiences a sudden resurgence. Wirt's sudden, breathless gasp of pain is tinged with an "I love you," and Dipper only grins in a subdued fashion, holds him closer. They're both exhausted, Wirt notices, and still standing for some reason, but even after seven years together, he still flushes over his involuntary declaration and groans.

"You're ridiculous," Dipper informs him. The stretch of his lips is less controlled now. Wirt rolls his eyes, despite the pain.

"Thank you," he mumbles, instead of returning a remark.

"Of course," Dipper says, kissing his eyelids in turn. They step back as one and settle against the couch, sinking down onto it and tangling their limbs together in a way that does not remind Wirt of thick vines holding him down, not one bit. Ha. He shifts his legs, careful not to jostle Dipper too much, and they simultaneously whisper an apology into the quiet atmosphere.

Dipper leans against him further and kisses him soundly on the lips, leaving occasional pecks on his cheeks and forehead. They tuck against each other, and if Wirt can still see pastel smudges of bluepinkyellow stolen away in the corners of his eye, then he says nothing of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i headcanon that wirt only wears really soft, thick, warm socks, and he wears them literally constantly. cannot go without. three guesses why.
> 
> sorry for the long break. life is scary and terrible, and i got so, so stuck on this chapter. also, i got really into les mis and it's just been kind of a downward slope since then.
> 
> love you all! i'll try to get back to a semi-regular updating schedule soon.
> 
> ALSO: please tell me if i have overstepped any boundaries on this. i primarily experience auditory hallucinations, so the realm of visual hallucinations is a little... unknown to me. wirt has an unnamed, dubious mental disorder (or multiple) that causes these. he has never sought diagnosis for any symptoms.


	12. [12] when we lay together on the fresh spring grass

He remembers a small hand clutching his in the dark, the four of them spread out with stomachs aching from laughter, below a velvet blanket of stars. Pinpricks of light were radiating from the spaces between the trees surrounding them all, cold wind echoing around the clearing they occupied. He remembers easy conversations, boisterous siblings, a camping trip that took place a decade previously. He remembers the sticky feeling of fingers tangled in fingers, even on a frosty, yet unbearably humid night. He remembers the galaxy splayed before his eyes, his breath hitched somewhere low in his throat.

He remembers the tickle of grass against his nose as he tilted his head to the side to look at the beauty lying not two feet from himself. He remembers the feeling of cold toes pressed against his calves, the graceless, snorting laughter that bubbled from his lips. He remembers a brother, years younger, planting himself on his chest and asking ("We could come back every year from now on, Wirt!") if he thought their mom would be okay with it if they visited again next summer. He remembers teeth, only slightly crooked and chattering more with every breeze, splitting apart and making way for a litany of bad jokes. He remembers shoving the boy beside him, as best he could, and meeting Dipper's growing grin with one of his own.

He remembers sleeping beneath the stars. He remembers Dipper's budding fear that _something_ would attack them in the night ("It's a regulated campground. Nothing and nobody is going to touch us, okay? Deep breaths.") and the ease with which he calmed him down, away from their siblings. He remembers rolling out sleeping bags by the light of an electric lantern. He remembers the lingering scent of bug spray and the thick humidity of late spring air. He remembers the crunch of pine needles under his feet, the tingling ache in his joints from a day spent hiking around the vast, unknown forest. He remembers staring out at the shadowed trees, a biting tune clattering through his ears, deep-voiced and with the potential for melody if it did not inspire such anxiety in him. He remembers the gentle press of Dipper's fingers against his fluttering pulse point and the steadily warming air around him, so unlike the bitter cold of the afterlife.

He remembers tucking himself against the quiet boy beside him, arms wrapped around each other and smothered by an overlarge sleeping bag. He remembers Mabel's ridiculous winking. He remembers Greg's hand pressed abruptly against his cheek in a cheerful goodnight. He remembers soft kisses against the shell of his ear. He remembers wordless contentment and Dipper's broken humming. He remembers the cool blades of grass tickling at his face when he tried to nuzzle closer, and he laughs wetly when he remembers Dipper's understated sneezing when the same happened to him.

He takes a moment and remembers staring up at the sky, marveling at the lights shining despite everything. He remembers the pink tint to the cloudless portrait before him, the clusters of thousands of white specks dazzling without the threat of the burnt orange hues of the city invading. He remembers the way the stars seemed to stretch into oblivion, the way the white and pink and yellow coalesced to make something beyond himself and all the tiny creatures he shared his home with. He remembers feeling so very small and so very large at the same time. He remembers Dipper's lips against his throat, the tiny brush of eyelashes against his skin, the knowledge that everyone else was asleep, and that this was his moment to capture forever.

He remembers resolving not to think about the universe anymore, despite its alluring pull, and the satisfaction in closing his eyes against the sight of Dipper's curled hair mussed right by his face. He remembers two perfect snapshots of beauty that night. He remembers the endless weight of the galaxies above him and the love of his life rested so comfortably right in his arms. He remembers whispering sweet words, words showered in love and affection and adoration, into Dipper's silky hair and kissing his forehead before finally falling asleep.

He stops, choking on another halfhearted laugh.

Sara is sitting cross-legged across from him, enraptured with his story, despite its mundane plot.

"D'you need to stop? You can stop, Wirt, it's okay. I pinky-promise." She holds out her hand to meet his halfway through the air. Their pinkies intertwine for a moment, then break apart. Wirt sniffles rather pathetically, he thinks.

"Thanks, Sara. Sorry. It's just, like. I wish we didn't fight like this sometimes, you know?"

Sara nods her head sympathetically, drumming her fingertips thoughtfully against her calf. "I know, Wirt. I wish I could help more. It's nice, though, that you've got such wonderful memories with him!"

Wirt smiled weakly, expression open and raw. "I suppose it is nice," he says, hushed. "Though, admittedly, it hurts a little more right now than I thought it would."

"It's not good to feel bad for feeling happy, Wirt." Sara looks about as serious as Sara can, nodding gravely. "You should let yourself think of it as a happy memory right now. I'm one-hundred percent positive all the bad is only temporary." Sara's face changes, then, and she looks as though she's seen the same gorgeous scene Wirt once had, long ago. "Hey! So, hypothetically..." She trails off, collecting her thoughts, then goes for it all at once while Wirt looks on in confusion and vague distress.

"What if, and only what if! But, what if you and Dipper and Mabel and Greg all went on another camping trip?" She looks at him expectantly, trying not to appear too excited.

"I seriously hope you do not mean right now. Nope. That would not be happening," he states firmly, if a little shakily.

She bumps her fist into his shoulder, and he winces, rubbing it with a look of disdain. "Of course not right now, Wirt! I just mean sometime in the probably near future. You nerds need to get it together, seriously."

Wirt, fully prepared to bust out the whole irritated-comeback-combined-with-some-disgruntled-huffing act, inflates, then immediately lets all the tension drain from his body. He sighs dramatically enough that Sara chuckles warmly and punches his shoulder, less hard this time. "I guess you're riiight," Wirt sighs again, prolonging it just to be annoying. Sara's eyes are bright even by the dim light of her home. A little more light creeps into Wirt's expression when he smiles back at her.

"You know, even though it sucks that you two are fighting about whatever it is you two fight about," Sara starts, then glances at Wirt's furrowing brows and rushes out the rest of her sentence, "I'm glad you were here to do it. And that sounds mean, but, well, I mean it. You have me, Wirt. I'm never gonna stop being your best friend, even when you get sad. Especially when you get sad." She laughs and pokes his cheek when he starts getting flustered.

"You should talk to him tonight."

"Yeah. You're probably right."

"I'm always right."

Wirt sticks his tongue out at her.

It's a wonder those two ever manage to work anything out, she thinks, and is delighted to hear just the next day from Mabel, who learned from Greg, who heard from Jason Funderburker: Frog Edition that everything is settled and the group is planning a sudden pick-up-and-leave camping trip in the spring. Wirt apparently argued that you couldn't plan a pick-up-and-leave, but Dipper, Mabel, Greg, Waddles _and_ Jason Funderburker all voted his opinion on the subject irrelevant. A few hours of spirited whining later on Wirt's part and Sara is confident everything is going to be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is out so late!
> 
> i didn't even plan on sara being there, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ she's really fun to write.
> 
> as always, comments are appreciated! please point out any glaring mistakes so i can correct them. i actually almost missed the whole "i love you" part, i got so wrapped up in The Plot. i'll try to make up for it!!


	13. [13] in a letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy sighs.

_"I'll be honest, I'm not entirely sure how to start this. At least I can't stutter over my words when I'm writing. Take that, genetic disposition!_

_Did you know it's been four years since we first met? Four whole years._

_We've, uh, definitely encountered our share of misfortune. Not to say we haven't shared a really good few years! Shit. I'm definitely going about this the wrong way already._

_Just, I mean, I'm not sure you really liked me at all near the beginning, there. It took you quite a while to grow a little more fond of me, I think. And that's fair! I was weird. Not really the best dude to meet at, what, a garage sale?_

_It's funny, they always say you remember the first moment you laid eyes on the person you were meant to be with, but forgive me, for my memory of that day has been worn with time. I never really had all that great of memory anyway. You know that, now, but you didn't then._

_There are a lot of things we've come to learn about each other in the last four years. Favorite movies, stories, books and poetry. Little things that make the other happy. Favorite foods and favorite music. Sleeping habits, eating habits, odd quirks. Political opinions (how fortunate ours coincide), opinions on pets and children. Um. Romantic and sexual orientation? Stuff like that._

_I know I'm absolutely botching this since I'm not really all that great at writing. I can do poetry and creative writing. Formalities and letters and short stories? Those are definitely more your thing. I'm just kind of stumbling my way awkwardly through this whole thing, but I like to think you'd find this all pretty endearing. That's kind of the goal here._

_Pretend I'm screwing up a really sultry wink right now._

_I'm beating around the bush. Spinning myself in circles just to avoid getting to the point._

_Ergh._

_~~I love you.~~_

_~~God, do I love you. I want to spend my entire life with you. Wake up next to you and kiss your forehead and tell you everything will be okay.~~_

_I adore the way your eyes light up amber when exposed to the setting sun. The way your eyes crinkle near the edges and your nose wrinkles when you smile with your whole face. The way your hair wraps itself around my fingertips when I run my hand through it._

_I like when you press your cold nose to my cheek in the depths of winter. When you call me in the middle of the night to thank me for being there for you, which is obviously a given, by the way. I'm never not going to be here for you._

_Look at you, tripping me up enough for me to start using double negatives._

_~~I can hardly keep myself from kissing you when you're lying next to me on the floor in the early hours of the morning.~~_

_You inspire so much good in the world, whether you believe it or not. I mean. I know you don't believe me when I tell you you're amazing, astounding, the most wonderful person I've ever had the privilege of meeting. That's okay, I just. I want you to know how I feel._

_This is ridiculous okay never mind-"_

Wirt let out another huff of frustration. Whenever he got to the point in the letter where, you know, it actually came down to confessing, wow. What a train wreck. He glared down at the unfinished cluster of unintelligible, mismatched sentences. His foot, tapping rhythmically and muffled against the carpet, abruptly stilled.

He folded the printer paper in half, then into fourths, and tucked it delicately into a small envelope with shaking hands. Draft #17 was sealed away with a lick and a shudder and placed in a cluttered drawer to be disregarded for the time being.

Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know it's super short- please forgive me! i encountered a loooottt of writer's block on this one.
> 
> wirt wrote this prior to confessing during [6]!! he eventually showed dipper the letter, but it took him some time to build up the courage.
> 
> dipper framed it after they got married out of sheer sentimentality.


	14. [14] a whisper in the ear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a panic attack/flashback featured in this chapter! please tread carefully!
> 
> wirt definitely isn't intentionally gross or horrible in this chapter- for the first part, he just doesn't know what to do. and for the second, his curiosity is mostly born out of concern. he's not trying to be cruel or anything.
> 
> also, please, _please_ never touch someone having a panic attack _unless_ you have discussed their specific boundaries before or they give you express permission to. seriously. please respect people's boundaries.
> 
> anyway, please enjoy!

His ass plants itself on the curb, and you, frankly, lose your fucking patience for a good five seconds.

Pinch the bridge of your nose, inhale deeply, keep inhaling, don't stop inhaling 'til your lungs feel like they're about to burst-

Let it out.

"Dipper."

He blinks blearily up at you, and you figure he's considering the fact that he has a name at all. He's obviously swaying, even sitting as he is. Well, he's not really sitting. After his pretty blatant fall, and his shitty attempt to cover for it by leaning back with his hands propped up on the cement below him, he's definitely in more of a slumping, unstable, probably-going-to-fall-over-in-the-next-ten-seconds position.

You aren't angry. You're just... frustrated, and a little (see: distressingly) upset, about the fact that he left in the middle of the night all for the sake of a couple swigs off a cheap bottle of vodka. You doubt he even knew anyone he was drinking with, considering you didn't recognize anyone in the room and both of your social circles tend to stay within the same group of people, give or take a few here and there.

He is still staring up at you, eyes fixed on your face.

You can see the hunch of his spine, the tense line of his shoulders, the masked fear in his expression. You take another deep breath, one that is not nearly as prolonged as the last, and crouch down to meet him down on the curb. The gravel on the side of the road slips and shifts under your feet, and you stumble much the same way he had, catching yourself with your hands and scraping your palms up a little bit.

Three A.M. casts a different light on the world, you think. The streetlight above you drips its dull, orange light down over the crowns of your heads, and the stoplights half a block down the street are oozing grass-green light onto the rain-spattered streets. You've only had one run-in with any other living being besides Dipper in the last half-hour, which took the form of an obviously-intoxicated driver nearly veering off the road and straight into you both. Fortunately, aforementioned driver yanked the wheel prematurely and wobbled their vehicle into the straightest line they could, screeching off in the direction of the nearest Walmart.

You had spent an ungodly amount of time wondering what was so important that it constituted an inebriated, early morning trip to Walmart, but you didn't get very far, seeing as you were still in charge of your drunk best friend.

You turn a palm up towards the sky and rest it on the ground beneath you and Dipper. You wince at the scattered specks of blood on the heel of your right palm, but know it's too late to take it back when Dipper casts his startled expression from your face to your hand. He physically flinches back, minutely, and you can tell you've made a mistake, though one that can be rectified.

You still aren't one-hundred percent sure how to handle his paranoia with care after what was sure to be a truly riveting round of horrific nightmares. You can tell your presence sets him on edge that much more, since he is still staring at your hand as though your palm was gashed open and a few fingers removed, rather than having the superficial wounds that are actually there. But if you hadn't come after him, who would have? Mabel, currently out of town and out of service range, left you, someone who is definitely still trying to learn his patterns and tells and habits, to stay with him ~~and make sure he was safe~~ for the duration of her leave.

She, however trusting of you and your capabilities, did not count on the nightmares coming back on the first night of her absence.

Your fingers are curled in towards the soft skin of your palm when he lifts the hand closest to you, which is trembling, and touches the tips of his index and middle fingers gently, softly onto the injuries, like he is trying to distinguish between what is real and what he sees. You do not wince again, even though your nerves are alight with a dull ache made worse by his sweaty fingers, and let him take your hand in his own two. He tests all of your fingers once, twice, just to be sure they're working.

This is not something you're used to in any way. He typically does his best to hide his symptoms and, well, the fact that he has a mental illness at all, from you, but it seems that isn't something he cares about as much when wasted. You've only seen him drunk once before, at a party that feels like it's a thousand years past, but that very certainly did not give you the experience necessary to prepare yourself for tonight.

It's rather shocking to be woken by screaming from another room, as you discovered, and even more shocking to seek out the source and find an empty bed where you knew someone had been sleeping before. Your spiking panic had led you to leave the house in quick pursuit with just a t-shirt, pajama bottoms covered in frogs, and a pair of battered Converse on. While it was raining.

To be fair, Dipper isn't much better off. At least you have shoes.

He's taken to just holding your hand in his lap, which, surprisingly, isn't bothering you at all. You take another deep breath to quell your anxiety and scoot a little closer to him. While he does tense up, he doesn't move away, and you settle your head into a resting position on his shoulder. He's a lot shorter than you, so you end up having to crane your neck at kind of an awkward angle, but it's moderately comfortable, so you stick with it.

There's freezing rainwater seeping into your pajama bottoms, and you're both still in an awkward position, but eventually, he begins to relax and toy with your fingers, playfully rather than anxiously. You breathe in and out at the same time as him, trying to match his heartbeat, but trying not to overstep any boundaries, never mind the fact that you had both already had had a huge discussion about physical contact after he accidentally scared the shit out of you by grabbing your shoulders from behind during one of your... episodes, and you mistakenly touched him during a panic attack, all in the same week.

Needless to say, that conversation carried on for a while.

After five solid minutes of sitting like that, your hand still wrapped in his, and one politely declined offer to smoke with the second living being you had encountered besides each other, you decide it's time to try heading home again.

You suggest, hardly a whisper, that you both head back to the apartment, and you're reminded that he's still out of it when his head just kind of lolls, which you guess is kind of a nod. You pull him up by his hands, catching him when he stumbles, and hold onto him for dear life for the entire walk back.

\---

The next time you have to track Dipper down in the middle of the night, it's somehow even more anxiety-inducing than the last time.

Probably because you're both actually in a relationship now. Wow. And you had been for a while. You still can't really believe it.

Unfortunately, now is not the time for squishy, giddy feelings.

You are very lucky Dipper is a predictable person in some respects. Such as his choice of potential party venues.

You find him only three blocks down from your apartment, much closer than usual. It's always the first place you check when he storms out of the apartment in a hurry after a fight between the two of you. He's already got a drink in one hand and a seat at the bar when you show up and drag his ass out of there.

His entire body is shaking, a familiar state for him, when you sit him down on a bench far away from the busyness of the street. He's clutching at your arms as you quiet him, pulling him into your embrace. His grip almost hurts. You focus on holding onto him as tightly as you can whenever his breathing starts to dissolve into shudders and gasps, full of panic and terror. He's muttering rapidly between sharp inhales and exhales, choking out near-indistinguishable syllables. You catch a few words here and there, some objects like "forks" and "stairs" and "bubbles." There are other, vaguer terms he stumbles over more often than not, sometimes broken up sentences.

You catch the tail end of "...geddon."

"Eyes, eyes... -ywhere, statues..." A fit of broken laughter. "Golden, sure."

His breath is starting to come faster than it was before, and you shoosh him, rather ineffectively. More words are spilling out, and despite the fact that you know you should be trying to keep him calm, you're attempting to do so while hearing what he's saying, opening his airways so you can hear these words he's never let spill in front of you, even in much the same state.

"Fucking maze of a pyramid." That one bursts clear, obviously frustrated, and is immediately followed by a rash of hysterical laughter. "He almost killed us, almost killed... -abel, the choice-" He chokes, but keeps spitting out words. "Memory g-gun- tapestries? Frozen, they were f-frozen. Cage, deal-" His voice is clipped, raising. "Bill-!"

He looks like he's on the verge of screaming, and his shaking has gotten worse despite how tightly you're holding him, trying to rock him through his attack. You waited too long. "Evergreen, shhh, I've got you, shh, you're okay, you're okay."

He's not reacting to your voice, though, and it's sort of starting to scare you.

"Evergreen, Dipper, look at me. Look at me. Take a deep breath. Breathe with me, c'mon, please," you murmur, turning him so you're facing each other on the bench. He's still grabbing your arms with ferocious intensity, but he's facing you, scanning your expression for any signs of aggression, watching you warily. You have a feeling he's seeing you as a threat right now, even though his body is recognizing you as a source of comfort and safety.

"Same thing as always, in one two three, out four five six seven." You inhale deeply, one two three, but don't waste any time holding it, instead breathing out almost immediately, four five six seven. He's starting to pick up the pattern, though his lungs are having a hard time taking the signal to fill and empty at the right times. It takes him a little while, longer than you would have wanted, to fully get into the swing of the calming exercise. By the time his breath perfectly matches yours, his eyelids are drooping and his hands are still tight on your arms, shaking more with effort than panic, now.

You coax his grip off of your forearms and pull him in tight to you once again, muttering reassurances into his hair. You plant a kiss on the top of his head and rest your forehead on his shoulder in much the same way you did when you had no idea what you were actually doing, way back when. He tilts his head against yours, tucking himself into you, and you take comfort in the amount of trust he's showing you.

"I love you," he sighs into your ear, exhausted and heavy, but genuine nonetheless. You kiss his ear in return.

"Let's go home. Please," he tacks on.

You both end up walking the three blocks back to your apartment, despite how emotionally drained you both are.

Later, when the shadows are crawling across the walls and your eyes are firmly shut against them, and Dipper is knocked out, snoring peacefully beside you, you allow yourself to mull over what he said earlier in the night.

You know he'll tell you when he's ready.

You turn over, cuddling into his side, face pressed against his ribs. He snorts in his sleep, and you let out a chuckle.

When he's ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just call a damn taxi, wirt. you're awful at this whole commuting at night thing.
> 
> this is just, like, a brief glimpse at what i kind of want to get into with this fic. but, alas, i need to figure out how to do that. actually.
> 
> feedback is always appreciated! sorry for the wait, again.


	15. [15] loud, so everyone can hear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> total disclaimer: i've only been to lgbtq+ pride in my city, which doesn't have a parade, but DOES have a festival with booths, a drag show, and activities for everyone to join in on. basically, i don't even know what the parade is like, so i apologize for the lack of parades in this fic. i'm sure it would've been fun to write.

"Wirt, I promise you look fine."

Wirt paused in his fussing, turning from the mirror to face Dipper's grinning face. He gave an apologetic smile. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just not used to having this much metaphorical wealth smeared on my face."

"That's not a very accurate way to refer to makeup."

"Oh, yeah? What are you, the makeup police?"

"You know that's not a thing, Wirt." Dipper chuckled a little breathlessly, stepping fully into the well-lit bathroom and reaching a hand up to cup his face. He ran his thumb over Wirt's cheekbone, gently rubbing away a tiny portion of the glitter smeared there. Wirt's eyes softened slightly; he placed his left hand over Dipper's, leaning into the palms pressed against his cheek.

Mabel's exaggerated gagging noises kind of ruined the moment.

"Bro-bro, can I pleeease have your boyfriend's face back?" Mabel whined, folding her hands in a pleading gesture. "I'll only keep him for another few minutes, I promise! I just need to find my other brush, and-"

"Okay! Okay." Dipper laughed as he cut her off mid-sentence. "I don't need to hear all the gruesome details. Just make sure we're ready to go in time."

"To be fair, it is sort of my fault we took a break in the first place," Wirt chimed in from near the bathtub, tapping his finger rhythmically against the counter next to him. "I wanted to see what she was doing to my poor, dear, innocent face."

"Well, like I said, you look fine. C'mere." Dipper grasped Wirt's face with both of his hands, then, and pulled him forward a little awkwardly for a parting kiss. Wirt leaned into him after a brief moment, much like he had leaned into his hand, but Dipper was gone in a moment, flashing a ridiculous wink in the direction of his sister's exasperated face.

"You're lucky you didn't smear his lipstick!" was shouted from behind Dipper as he headed out to their shared car, where he spent the next few minutes throwing items from previous years at Pride into the back in preparation for this year.

This Pride was going to be the best he'd ever had, he was sure of it. He reached into the pocket of his jacket, reassuring himself the sheer bag was still in there. He took a deep, nervous breath, then made for the door of the apartment again, readying himself for the day ahead.

Half an hour later, he finally coaxed Mabel and Wirt out of the bathroom, though Wirt didn't need much of an excuse to get out of the bathroom and collapse into the front seat of Dipper's car. He sighed in relief and smiled over at Dipper in the driver's seat.

A good day, indeed.

\---

Pride was hectic, in a word. Both Dipper and Wirt reconnected with friends they hadn't seen in person in, well, a year. Mabel, ever the social butterfly despite her occasional bouts of anxiety, immediately launched into speaking with the younger crowd, trying her best to make them more comfortable with the area and people around them, succeeding with ease.

While Mabel stuck by her brother and his boyfriend for some time near the end, after they had all done their own respective group activities, but she eventually broke off to do her own thing, leaving Dipper and Wirt to wander around the booths at the festival instead. They people-watched for a while, sitting on a bench and being as open with their affection as they were comfortable with in public. Dipper was still a little skittish around large groups, especially large groups of strangers, but Wirt made sure to hold them both together even in the public eye.

"Hey, Wirt?"

"Yeah, Evergreen?" Wirt carefully stroked his thumb over Dipper's.

"I have to ask you something." He swallowed audibly. His voice was calm, but his hands were shaking the slightest bit.

Wirt shifted their position around so Dipper was facing him, turned sideways on the bench with his hands resting in Wirt's palms and their knees pressed together. "What is it?" he asked, letting concern pepper his voice.

"Do." A huff. "Do you love me?"

Okay, well, whatever he expected, that was not even remotely near it. "What? Dipper, yes, of course I do," he replied, a little incredulous.

"Can I hear you say it?" he continued in an even quieter, more timid voice.

Wirt shifted, worry and anxiety building in the back of his throat like bile, though he tried not to show his discomfort. "Can I ask you why?"

Dipper groaned, "Oh, Wirt, don't make me do this."

"Hey, we talked about this, remember? Work through what you need to say first. I'm not gonna force you to do or say anything, you know that, but I do want to know what's upsetting you right now. I only want to help."

A few moments of relative silence passed between them, Dipper's mouth opening and closing several times before finally settling on the first syllable. "We..." Wirt gave an encouraging nod, which caused Dipper to clench his teeth for a moment and sigh.

"We've been together for a really long time. Like, a _really_ long time." He looked at Wirt's face, looking for an affirmation of his statement, and found overwhelming affection and validation. He took another deep breath and removed his hand from Wirt's palm, reaching into his pocket to feel the sheer fabric of the bag again, rubbing the fabric against itself gently and toying with the drawstrings.

"And I've been thinking lately..."

"If this is a terrible attempt at a breakup speech, you're doing pretty, well, terrible," Wirt commented when Dipper trailed off again, jokingly gesturing at all of their points of contact. Dipper broke his rigidity a little bit, rolling his eyes at Wirt's comment and smiling when Wirt grinned at him.

"No, loser, I'm not trying and failing miserably to break up with you. The opposite, actually, y'know," Dipper closed his eyes forcefully for a moment and drew the bag out of his pocket, catching it on his zipper for a moment. The object inside wasn't visible, but by this point, Wirt was beginning to catch on to what was happening. 

They both simultaneously drew in a deep breath, which just made them laugh nervously together, then break down altogether, grabbing onto each other for support just as much as fear.

"Guess you took the words right out of my mouth," Wirt muttered against the shell of Dipper's ear after they had been stuck together for a good while.

"Huh?" Dipper hummed.

"Earlier. You asked if I loved you. You know I love you, Dipper. My Evergreen."

"Oh, stop it, you sap." Wirt shoved against Dipper who shook with laughter in his arms.

"Bad joke, nerd."

"But I'm _your_ nerd," Dipper cooed, snickering when Wirt's nose wrinkled up.

They sat in a comfortable embrace for a little longer, the crowd no longer as intense around them as it was before they had sat down. They felt like they were in their own little bubble, just the two of them with no outside interference.

Dipper broke the silence once again.

"Is... is that a yes, then?"

Wirt tightened his grip around Dipper for a moment before releasing him and leaning back to look him in the eyes. "What do you think?"

"I think you have low standards and are probably totally going to settle for the disaster sitting in front of you."

"The highest compliment I could receive." Wirt was the one to cup Dipper's cheeks with his hands this time, leaning in and kissing him softly, just a press of lips against lips. Wirt only broke the kiss when Dipper started smiling too much to continue. He pulled back and brushed the overgrown bangs from Dipper's eyes.

"Ohhh, I love you," he lamented dramatically, throwing his hand back against his forehead in the standard gesture for, well, drama.

"Wirt, oh my god, stop." Dipper shook his head bemusedly when Wirt's eyelashes fluttered in reply.

"But I want the whole world to witness my love for you," Wirt replied casually, grabbing the hand that still held the silver bag with the matching ring. Dipper opened his closed fingers slowly, letting Wirt draw the bag from between his fingers and palm with a little difficulty. "You have purple lipstick on your chin, by the way."

"Oh, damn it!" Dipper scrubbed at his face distractedly while Wirt slipped the ring out of the bag with care and slid it onto his left ring finger. Dipper focused back on the ring with wide eyes after a moment, mouth hanging open a little when he looked up to meet Wirt's eyes.

"You didn't have any lipstick on your face, by the way. I just needed a distraction stupid enough it would actually work so you wouldn't build up the whole ring thing too much."

"You're grabbing dinner tonight, then."

Wirt sighed and leaned in for another kiss, but the second Dipper moved in to meet him, he smudged the lipstick against Dipper's cheek instead of his mouth.

"Rude, but not unexpected," Dipper conceded.

"Love you," Wirt whispered.

"Love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mabel saw the whole thing. 
> 
> anyway, so sorry if any of this is out of character! i love them, but i'm still getting back into the swing of things. this was meant to be out in june, i swear!! i wanted to do something for pride month, but i hit a wall. i only got 100 words in before giving up; it's been months since i've even touched this story, so i apologize if the quality is lacking. i'm trying to get my head back in the plot :(
> 
> if you want a full explanation as to why i've been gone for so long, please feel free to leave a comment and i'll do my best to get back to you as soon as possible! thank you all so much for sticking with me, and thank you a thousand times over for 1k!!
> 
> by the way, the loud "i love you" was supposed to be wirt being overdramatic, but since i'm a naturally quiet person who doesn't like drawing attention to myself, even the concept of writing out a scenario in which someone says something so personal loudly enough for everyone around them to hear was basically impossible for me to fathom, so i totally half-assed that bit. whoops.


End file.
